Pillars of the Moon

by French, B. J. ;

  Opening the door to Jufel's apartment was always a bit of an experience. One never knew what could be lurking in the confines of his small one-bedroom flat. A pull out couch tucked against one wall of the living room was usually down and cluttered with clothes and magazines; but today, it was up, and relatively clean. Most of the usual refuse had made its way to the coffee table, which sat in the middle of the room cluttered with magazines, movie videos and leftovers from the previous night, or nights. The decor was simple with the obvious splash of bachelorhood. Pizza boxes and beer bottles graced all the available horizontal surfaces, and some that were not. Throughout the living and kitchen area, stacks of empty beer cases and other leftovers, pizza crusts included, seemed to creep their way about like ground foliage on a tropical isle. The many colorful posters that lined the walls gave the living area a nightclub co-ordination that could only be appreciated by those who created it. It was obvious Jufel was enjoying himself and was in the constant mode of entertaining his friends.

  Placing my small suit case and shoulder-bag of camera equipment on the floor by the front door, I waded through the debris to the opposite side of the room to open the vertical blind exposing the sliding door. Giving the door a tug, I felt fresh air rush passed me, entering to relief the staleness from the night before. The smell of old smoke that impregnated the furniture lingered momentarily, while the freshness outside continued throughout the room; the culprit, a tray half full of cigarette butts, was centerpiece on the small square mahjong table. The oblong, ivory tablets of the Chinese game, were neatly stacked across the deck as though left in anticipation for the next game to begin. A fallen stack of discarded coins remained at one edge, abandoned for the moment, but hopefully like the phoenix, to rise again from the ashes of defeat.

  Outside, visible through the glass of the sliding door, a small group of boys played a game of catch on Tillicum Common. Behind them several joggers in their near-fluorescent regalia, bobbed up and down as they circled their way around the gorge. My mind wandered to the many times I had run the entirety of that same walkway with much enthusiasm, but of late the opportunity and determination just were not there.

  What a mess! I sighed turning back to the clutter of the room.

  I stacked a few of the papers that were left scattered across the couch to make room to sit down. Pulling a throw blanket about me, and lying down, I let my head sink into a velvet pillow with unconcern. I gazed at the stucco ceiling for a few moments and tried to empty my mind. The conversation at the museum was intriguing. Shawna’s demeanor and her body language had alluded to her knowing much more than she let on. Then again, she knew me not from Adam; why should she divulge any more than she did, or anything at all? I was a complete stranger, but not for long.

  The sound of the birds chirping in the trees just beyond the balcony rail began to ease the heaviness I felt. From the direction of the sliding door, the gentle draft of fresh air, laden with the scent of new foliage, drifted by and within a moment my eyes closed of their own accord. My mind wandered at the events of the morning and I soon found myself drifting into a light sleep.

  It had been delightful seeing Maryse this morning, even more-so if the circumstances had of been different and we could have spent some time down by the water, perhaps picking mussels, or looking for the interesting garb that washed up to the shore along the strait. Of late, we had taken delight in the simpler things that living by the coast had to offer, often going clam digging, hiking and treasure hunting. We had known each other for several years before we had dated, and when the realization that we both felt the same way about each other, and the opportunity arose to do something about it, we jumped.

  As I slipped deeper into sleep, I was aroused by the sensuality we had experienced during our first intimate relations together. Sensing that my body was responding to the stimulation, I came to the realization, with a start, that I was not alone. Feeling a weight on my legs, I opened my eyes and I looked down beneath the blanket that covered me; Maryse's piercing brown eyes peered up at me; a mischievous little giggle, she sounded so often to get her own way, escaped her moist half open lips. Stealing up my chest, she nestled her face against my shoulder and slipped her hand up underneath my shirt.

  "What do you think you're doing?" I half laughed giving her a squeeze as she snuggled further up on top of me, her face tucked beside my neck. "You could have given me a heart attack waking me up like that!"

  "Oh don't be silly, I am tired too." she sighed.

  I knew I was defeated with not so much as a word on the subject, and within a few moments the pain of the burn was forgotten and all the rest seemed to be functioning, as it should.

  We slept the afternoon away in each other's arms warm on the couch till there was a loud bang on the patio door. Two boys screaming at the top of their lungs, just beyond the balcony, startled us out of our slumber. Pulling my shirt close about me, I strolled out onto the balcony and tossed a ball over the rail to the thankful boys below. As I turned to come back inside, out of the corner of my eye a familiar shadow caught my attention. There, tucked beneath the trees just beyond the walkway in the parking lot, a familiar motorcycle was sitting. Taking a second glance and squinting to see the size of the bike and whether a familiar body came along with it, I turned and re-entered the apartment. Pulling the curtain almost shut, I stood back in the shadow and watched. Sure enough, after several moments, the familiar black leather bike suit, with something detestable inside, strolled across the grass in the direction of the bike. My first instinct was to jump the rail and chase after him.

  "Do you feel lucky today, punk!" flashed across my lips in remembrance of my favorite movie line? But looking down at my skinny legs and bare feet, I decided 'he wouldn't have a chance' and aroused Maryse from her sleep.

  "Come on Maryse, we gotta go."

  My watch showed it was a few minutes past four, and I wanted to revisit the museum and Shawna before closing.

  "Come on honey, let's go!" I gave her a nudge and pulled the blanket from her and made my way to the washroom.

  Maryse remained sitting on the couch, hands clasped between her closed knees, still half asleep. As I crept over to the patio door to peek outside again, I gave her an upward, waving motion with my hands to encourage her to action.

  "What on earth are you doing Brian?" she drawled, getting up from the couch and making her way to stand beside me. In broad daylight she yawned, arms up-stretched oblivious to the assault on our privacy from outside. Pulling her to one side with me, she struggled and pulled away.

  "What is wrong with you?" she yelped.

  "Maryse. Stay away from the door. There's someone out there."

  "So!"

  "No. There is someone out there watching us." I motioned her over to sneak a peak through the corner just in time to see the motorcycle pull out of the parking lot.

  "Yeah, right? You're going to have to do better than that," she mocked, wading through the debris to the bathroom. "My brothers a pig. Look at this place." Those were her last words as she disappeared behind the closing door.

  "Darn!" looking over my shoulder to the camera bag by the door. "I have a zoom lens in my case. I could have got a good shot of the guy." Strutting over, I bent down and unzipped the bag and prepared the lens and camera for the next encounter with this guy, which I was sure would happen.

  "Come on Maryse, let's go!" I yelled again, donning the rest of my clothes and jacket. Flinging the camera bag over my shoulder, ready to go, I stood perched by the door with my hand on the knob. I could not believe my ears. The shower was running.

  SIX

  The trip back to downtown Victoria, didn’t take long. Wharf Street, although busy with traffic, was running relatively smooth. The obvious delays of pedestrians, as they sauntered across the paved crosswalks to view the upper harbor, was the only near irritation on this Sunday evening. Thick ominous, rain clouds overshadowed Victoria, and gave the impression of the time being much la
ter in the day than it actually was.

  Barely able to look above the car windowsills, Maryse busied herself with looking about at the variety of people that walked the streets and stopped by the shop windows to peer in. She hated to ride in my car, let alone drive it, because of the low leather seats. Whenever she did, she would use a booster cushion to enable her to see over the dash and was always a very defensive driver. Needless to say, it did not happen very often.

  As we slowed down and rounded the corner by the Visitors Center, the harbor front came to view. Almost full of boats, their masts gently swaying with the gentle motion of the waves, the docks were alive with activity as sailors and onlookers prepared for nightfall. Captains from all over the area had been cautious enough to navigate the rocky shores in the rough seas and elude the onerous weather to moor in this protected little harbor. The Empress Hotel loomed pretentious on the left, its lights accenting its Victorian dignity. The Parliament Buildings ahead and to the right, were almost void of visitors now and looked gray beneath the ceiling of rain clouds. Busters and musicians danced and played to the few remaining pedestrians walking the lower harbor walkway to finish up the daylight hours. Raindrops had already started to fall leaving dots of spit on my windscreen. Turning right, to pass the front of the Parliament Buildings, we proceeded up Menzies to a parking spot.

  "Do you mind waiting here for a few moments, while I go into the museum,” putting my hand on Maryse' knee?

  She looked back and grinned sarcastically, "Not on your life." She pulled her lip to one side, "The last time you asked me that, I was in the car for over an hour."

  Climbing out of the car, I reached back behind the seat to retrieve my crumpled umbrella. Trying vainly to straighten the spokes to some semblance of normality, I came to terms with its condition and left it down to carry it alongside. We slowly crossed the street and over the lawn to the museum. The courtyard was now empty and very few people remained in the foyer of the museum. Riding the escalator up, I was startled by what I saw in the direction of Shawna’s desk. Pulling Maryse to my side, I covered her mouth and dragged her behind an exhibit.

  "What are you doing?" she screamed exasperated. "Have you gone mad?"

  "Shush!" uncovering her mouth from my hand. She cursed me under her breath as I held her back and peered through the exhibit to a young aboriginal man whom I recognized.

  "Uhh!" I groaned as the pain from her stamping on my toe registered. "Maryse, be quiet!" I grabbed her by the arms and squeezed her firmly enough to make her listen. "Remember what we talked about in the car on the way in this morning? Well, I think the guy over there is the fellow who ran into me last Friday at the exhibit in Vancouver." I watched as her eyes gave an indication of recognition.

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yeah!”

  We both peeped from behind the exhibit for several moments while he waited by the desk where Shawna had worked. A door opened beside the desk, not exposing the person behind it, and the young man briskly walked to it and disappeared. Waiting several moments, we crept over, hand-in-hand, to the door and gently gave it a tug; the door was secure.

  "Come on, let's go sit over there and wait till they come out." Taking a seat on a cushioned bench slightly hidden by some foliage, we sat and patiently waited. After fifteen minutes, and a call to museum closure, it was obvious they were not coming out.

  "Well hun, it doesn't look like they’re gonna come."

  "Yeah, I think so too.”

  We looked at each other and slowly got up and walked to the escalator to ride down. Once outside, I put my arm around her and looked around at the rain as it gently fell into puddles dotting the courtyard. Underneath the canopy of the front doors we were protected, but as the rain did not let up after several minutes, the inevitability of the situation was upon us, the crocked umbrella was unleashed.

  "Come on," I sighed arguably after a moments struggle. Marese and I, arm in arm, walked towards Beaconsfield Park to take the long way back to the car.

  Looking up the alleyway beside the museum, I noticed a motorcycle beside the dumpster halfway to the back. A bell went off in my head and I handed the umbrella to Maryse.

  "Wait here hun."

  "Why?"

  "Wait here!" as I squeezed her arm, persuading her to the brick wall close by, protected from the rain. She said nothing as I crept quietly up the alley staying close to the wall. My footsteps echoed lightly on the pavement, but not above the resounding raindrops hitting the hard surface below. My senses sharpened as I could hear scuffling behind the bin. My ears began to ring as I strained to identify the voices above the raindrops. I could hear slapping and groans and a woman's muffled scream. Squeezing myself between the bin and the wall, I edged forward till I could just see through the vertical crack to the figures of four men and a smaller figure, presumably the woman. Watching for a moment, sizing up the situation, I saw a sparkle below the ear of the man who was restraining the woman.

  "That son of a bitch," I grunted and lurched forward to attack him, wedging myself further between the bin and the wall! Trapped, but still unnoticed, with all the strength I could muster, I reached back to one of the vertical steel arms of the bin and yanked myself free. When the woman gave another yelp, fearless anger welled up inside me. Without a second thought, I raced around the front of the bin and took a giant leap in the air, feet first. The woman was free, and I landed on top of the earring-clad body and shot out unbalanced toward the other three men. With all my strength, I drove myself into them, knocking them off their feet; they toppled to the ground with the deafening noise of a gunshot. Above the ringing in my ears, I could hear the sound of a small piece of iron hitting the hard ground. Not stopping to look, I scrambled up and kicked and punched aimlessly as if there were a thousand before me. After several moments of sheer exertion and direct hits, two of the men ran away, disappearing further up the alley. One lay slumped against the wall, a green garbage bag by his side. The other, lay face down on the pavement, his earring dangling on his cheek.

  "I must have landed on his head," I half yelled toward the woman as she went to comfort the man slumped against the wall. She said nothing as she fondled his hair and opened his coat to expose a dark damp patch on his side.

  "Is he going to be alright?" I asked, crouching low on one knee to assist her.

  He grunted as he tried to get to his feet, "We have to get out of here. Those guys will be back!"

  "Who are they?”

  "Jaguar!"

  For the first time, I realized that it was Shawna; and the man propped against the wall exposed in the dim light, was my elusive friend from the exhibit. Blood was starting to pool on the pavement below where he was propped.

  "We have to get Peter out of here." she cried frantically. "He will bleed to death in this cold and rain."

  "Lets take him to the hospital; he needs help."

  "I can't." came Peter’s panting voice. They will be waiting for us there. Shawna, we have to go, quickly!"

  "Will you help us?" came Shawna's' desperate voice.

  "Where?" I asked with a shrug.

  "Anywhere but here for now."

  "All right, follow me."

  "Wait." Peter bent over as best he could and picked up the green bag.

  As I reached out to grab the bag from him, he redirected my hand as if to refuse and struggled with the slippery awkward bag close to his chest. Shawna ran to pick up her large purse from the ground by the door. Supporting Peter from both sides, we left the unconscious body behind and ran to the entrance to the alley way and Maryse shivering in the shadows behind a bush.

  "What happened Brian? I heard a gun shot.”

  "Honey, it's alright. Kind of hard to explain right now, but I have to help these people. Come, we have to get to our car."

  In her platform shoes, Maryse struggled to follow us as best she could under the crocked umbrella. We dodged through the puddles and mud in front of the Parliament Buildings. Fr
om behind, we heard the revving of a car engine and the squeal of tires. With the lights of the building well lighting our way, it was obvious we would also be exposed to the men who had left the alley. Tucking ourselves behind the stone-wall of the front steps, we were out of view. Looking back to the museum courtyard and a black sedan we assumed to be them, we waited for the way to be clear. Seeing a cab waiting in front of the Parliament walkway, I grabbed Maryse by the arm and forcibly ran with her down the curb, opened the door and threw her in.

  "Maryse, I love you. And I don't know what is going to happen right now, but I would feel a lot better if you would head home and wait for me to call. Don't worry. I'll be all right. As soon as I get these people out of here, I'll call."

  Slamming the door behind her, I rubbed my hand across the wet glass to see her clearly as she drove off. Turning back, I ran up the walkway to Shawna, crouched beside the wall and a near fainting Peter, no longer clutching the bag that lay on the ground at his feet.

  "Come on! My car is just around the corner.”

  Continuing along the front of the building, the three of us, with the bag, rounded the corner staying close in the shadows and watched from behind the bushes as the black sedan slowly cruised by. Waiting for it to clear, we edged our way across the street and lifted Peter into the back seat and covered him with an old blanket I used as a throw. The blood was still oozing from the wound and he looked pale as we prepared to drive off. Shawna squeezed into the back to comfort him while the green garbage bag was placed in the passenger’s seat in front with me. The square box inside, took half the area of the front seat. Shawna's' woven purse, that looked as if would hold a ton, was placed on top. Starting the car and doing a U turn, we headed for Government Street and a way out of the area. Pulling up to the light and waiting patiently for it to change, I looked back to Peter and saw Shawna giving the wound direct pressure. She stroked his hair with the other hand in comfort. Clutching the leather grip of the steering wheel, the middle knuckle on my right hand started to throb. I could tell it was badly bruised, but not broken. We sat anxiously waiting for the lights to change. The tension began to build at the same rate the pain and swelling around my knuckle did. As I looked up to watch the lights, I came eye to eye with the driver of the sedan directly opposite us.